The Long Way Home: Arrival
by TheNewIdea
Summary: An addendum to The Long Way Home. Brian and his lawyer, Mr. Peabody, are fighting a losing battle with Carter Pewterschmidt over the custody of Chris, Meg and Stewie; as their case weakens, the bonds of the family grow stronger.
1. Chapter 1

The trial thus far had been largely in favor of Carter- his connections were many, his logic sound in the eyes of human interests, an impenetrable force; whereas Brian, who had few assets, virtually no connections, and the rhetoric skills of an insane lunatic, had the sole defense of being caretaker and guardian of Chris, Meg, and Stewie for the past year and a half. Mr. Peabody, whose only real purpose for being there was to give Brian some credibility despite being unable to testify in regards to Brian's character, slowly paced about the room with the patience and calm demeanor of Atticus Finch.

"Ladies and gentlemen" Mr. Peabody began, "The evidence has been presented here in full. As members of the great state of Rhode Island and the city of Quahog it is up to you to make the final decision. But before you do, please remember, it is not a matter of Species but Character. A matter of ability, not just to perform the tasks required for a job or to sustain a household, but also love. It is a matter of duty and honor; for my client, who has always believed that he has had neither, still proves himself to be worthy by taking up the mantle even when he was the least obligated to do so."

Mr. Peabody casually looked about the jury, taking note of the indifferent faces and the general look of disdain that they carried, in part for Brian, and in part, he assumed, for himself. The judge, Clements, could only shake his head and laugh; which was enough for Mr. Peabody to turn towards him and with eyes that pierced even the hardest of hearts and the darkest of souls and gnash his teeth as boldly as he would allow.

"If Brian was a human this case would be over and done in a matter of hours" Mr. Peabody berated, nearing contempt, "Yet you, Mr. Clements, as well as Mr. Pewterschmidt, have decided to make this an issue of species, giving us no chance to defend ourselves!"

Clements laughed again and rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"And what exactly do you know about Rhode Island law?" Clements asked, "What right do you even have to be here, standing like you are, and telling us what is right?"

Mr. Peabody, resisting the urge to jump over the stands and beat Clements into unconsciousness, sighed, refusing to allow the judge, or anyone, the satisfaction of an answer. Turning back towards the jury, who were the only ones that Mr. Peabody needed to convince at this point, the dog continued his statement to the best of his ability.

"The children are not his, they did not come from his flesh or his loins yet he took them in. So Carter's argument in the legality of this situation: a dog, nay, a dog with the thinking capacity to speak and perform as a human, taking guardianship of a human is null and void."

Brian, throughout all of this, could not help but think of Stewie, who that morning had entered the first grade; of Meg, who had started her part-time job at the local ice cream shop and the beginning of her English studies at Brown in the hopes of becoming a teacher; and of Chris, who had recently taken up a job at the brewery. He wondered if they were doing alright, if they were adjusting to the recent changes well, if they cared about the outcome of the case; and most of all, if they would miss him when he lost the case. As he was thinking, Brian casually found his eyes settling on Carter, on the opposite side of the room at the table with his Harvard studied lawyer with a locked briefcase. It was not Carter's suit, which was finely pressed, or the lawyer, who looked as if he were going before the Supreme Court, that caught Brian's attention; it was instead Carter's eyes; the eyes of a man on the brink, tired and sad, as if everything reminded him of a horrible memory or a nightmarish dream that had become a reality.

Brian remembered, a few weeks before, in the Drunken Clam, the night that Vinny, Meg, Quagmire, and most of the people he would consider friends, came into the bar; how happy everyone seemed to be. That even in the deepest and darkest places, there was still a reason to smile. Vinny, who was sitting at the bar, after several minutes of twiddling his thumbs and not looking at anyone, rose to his feet and made his way to the jukebox. Putting in the correct amount of change, the dog, selecting the Proclaimers "I'm Goanna Be", casually began rapping his fist against the wall as rhythmically as he could; immediately causing Quagmire, Meg, and Brian, who was behind the counter cleaning glasses, to smile and dance in their own way, mostly by bobbing back and forth.

It was then that Vinny took up the microphone by the karaoke machine and began singing. By the time the vocalizations came up, the entire bar had joined in, no one caring as to who saw them. Quagmire, Bonnie and Jillian, who were also present, stood up and began jumping up and down, intimating the artists; Brian and Meg, instinctively began harmonizing and became a duo, casually playing off each other as Brian haphazardly continued to do his work. Vincent Venitti, who up until this point played no significant role in anyone's lives, hummed along, for although the Proclaimers wasn't his preferred style of music, he did understand the power of moments and when to accept them as they came.

Brian remembered this moment not because of the Proclaimers, but because it was the last time since that he felt truly happy. The only improvements that he could have suggested would be the inclusion of Chris, Stewie, and Ernie the Giant Chicken; the former two for obvious reasons, and the later because he had come to see the chicken as the brother he never knew. Other than these additions, the memory was a happy one, and one that he constantly referred back to; for even if he lost the case, he would at least aspire to maintain the happiness that he felt. As far as he was concerned, no court, could take such things away.

As Brian was inside of himself, thinking of happier times, Mr. Peabody continued fighting a losing battle.

"The People have already spoken in this regard, why bring it up again?"

Carter stood up at this, refusing to allow Mr. Peabody to blatantly the jury's heart away from the issue.

"That's biased" Carter declared, interrupting, "That was his own case that he took to the court when he got that bastard kid of his."

Mr. Peabody gnarled and sneered, he considered a respectable member of society, but to insult Sherman, was to insult himself, which was something that he could not allow.

"That bastard kid you're speaking of is my son" Mr. Peabody answered, "And I am proud to call him so. As for that case it has its relevancy here. Settled seven years ago Peabody vs. the State of New York unanimously declared the legal rights of an intelligent and complex minded animal such as myself full equality in the matters of humans. That, as far as I'm concerned, is fair game and makes the matter of species irrelevant to this case. It is, always has been, and will remain, a test of character."

Clements banged his gavel, silencing him and causing him to turn towards the judge, who casually broke for lunch. As the courtroom emptied itself, Mr. Peabody made his way towards Brian, who had a notebook and a pen in hand.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Peabody asked curiously, not really wanting an answer and simply trying to make conversation.

Brian sighed and shook his head, he didn't want to believe that the trial was happening, in his mind he was still at the Clam, cleaning glasses and pouring beer.

"Writing a letter" Brian answered, "I don't want the kids to worry about this, they have enough going on right now."

Mr. Peabody rolled his eyes and huffed indifferently, it was bad enough that Brian had already accepted defeat, now he had to deal with the added pressure of the children.

"What is more important than this?" Mr. Peabody replied, answering with a rhetorical question, "Everything they've ever known is hanging in the balance of this trial. We lose and their lives change forever. No more time travel, no more Saturday afternoons in the park. Their interactions with people will be limited to country clubs and hoity-toity bigots and narcissists-"

Brian laughed, for in all senses of the word he was a narcissist who believed himself to be higher and more sophisticated than everyone else around him; a trait he had always possessed in varying degrees. He didn't really say anything on the matter, for he knew that Mr. Peabody knew that he was a narcissist, and rather it was a certain type of narcissist, the ones with power, who used their influence to belittle and control, that were the ones to be avoided.

"They are going to grow up with only themselves" Mr. Peabody continued, "Never making choices, taking risks, or having any kind of original thought. Their creativity will be stifled, their dreams crushed and their ambition replaced with obsession and lust for money and more money. People like Carter speak only one language and if they can teach to people they will, but not so much that the student will rise above the teacher. That is their way. So it has always been, so it will always be."

Brian shook his head pitifully and brushed him off as best he could. Mr. Peabody was too paranoid for his liking, taking the matter too seriously than what the reality of the situation was. He knew that in part, his seriousness was a result of his own personal experiences with the New York Supreme Court, but he also knew it was because in general, Brian was relatively lax in regards to the situation. In his mind, the end result was only circumstantial.

"Don't you think you're being a bit paranoid?" Brian said, a little defensive, "I don't like Carter as much as the next guy but he has a point. Technically speaking I'm not a real member of the family, I can't openly claim custody. Besides, they would be financially secured, they would never have to work a day in their lives. They would never know pain, never know suffering like I do. They wouldn't have to spend their days living with a flea bitten alcoholic mixed breed who can barely take care of himself."

Mr. Peabody growled and grunted, annoyed that Brian was defeatist and lax at his own trial; it seemed that he had lost the will to care about anything that happened to him, and thus, all empathy was virtually gone.

"Do you know what the problem with politics is?" Mr. Peabody exclaimed, whispering for the sake of emphasis, "That everyone is so busy arguing about the problem that they forgot what it was. The same is true here. You've been fighting this for so long that you don't even know why you're doing it. Don't give up; they deserve better from you, and so do I."

Walking out of the courtroom with a quick pace, trying to catch the last few minutes of the break, Mr. Peabody could only pity Brian; who sat in his chair and said nothing, taking in the words of his lawyer and trying his best to process them. As he sat in silence he began to reflect on his reasons for being there, and why he chosen to take up the mantle in the first place. Ten minutes later, after much consideration, a few conversations with himself and a reaffirmation of his core beliefs, Brian came to the ultimate conclusion and finished his letter with it, documenting his thoughts for the others lest they become important. As the courtroom filed back into session the deliberations began. The closing statements finished, the jury, one by one, entered the small conference room in the back of the courthouse. When they reemerged, their decision in hands of the foreman, Angela, Peter and Brian's boss. stood up and looked about the room with a slightly guilty face, after which, she cleared her throat and read the verdict.


	2. The Prologue to the Story

The Prologue to the Story

A few months before the trial, Stewie, who had not been said of much until now, decided to take matters into his own hands; not in terms of Brian, whom he could do little for given the situation, but in terms of Ernie. The chicken, who had recently taken it upon himself to look after the children and help Brian as best he could, as a means of mending fences; was sitting in the kitchen, crying his eyes out and throwing a pity party for himself. He did not cry often, he did not believe that he had the luxury, for Ernie often found himself needing to be the strong one, the shoulder for people to cry on, leaving him with nothing and with no one to do the same for him. Stewie, curiosity getting the better of him, as well as in part because he was hungry, made his way into the kitchen and casually opened the refrigerator, fishing out an egg salad sandwich Brian had made earlier that day.

"What's up with you?" Stewie asked as he sat down, taking his usual seat, "Are you always this depressed?"

Ernie casually laughed and shook his head, trying his best to bring himself out of his state. Wiping his eyes, the chicken looked at the baby and with a smile on his face gave the best answer he could.

"Just some grown-up things Stewie" Ernie answered, "You wouldn't understand."

Stewie folded his arms, taking offense, for there were a lot of things that he understood, most of them well before he should have understood them.

"I understand lots of things" Stewie replied, correcting him and at the same time trying to be consoling, "Tell me, what's going on."

Ernie shook his head, as far as he was concerned it was too much to burden another person with, let alone someone as small and still generally innocent as Stewie, who feigned understanding in order to fit in; whose definition of self-expression laid in books and the works of Michelangelo and Leonardo, belittling his own work, refusing to call it Art despite that was exactly what it was. Stewie was the sort of person who believed in things, yet never acted on them, it was the kind of person that Ernie hated, if only because of their indecisiveness and their hypocrisy, yet it was the only kind of person that was available. Swallowing his pride, and figuring that there was nothing else to lose, Ernie, taking a deep breath, composed himself.

"My wife died at 8:50 am on a Thursday morning. She was in the hospital, had been diagnosed a few weeks before. There wasn't much time to do anything. We had just packed to go to Hawaii; after she spent weeks entering sweepstakes and saving money meticulously. It was to be on a budget, but we would still be able to go-"

Ernie stood and walked over to the refrigerator, searching for anything in the way of food, for he was hungry and hadn't eaten anything since breakfast several hours before; the day having been split between the Griffins and his Uncle Martin, who was installing a new sound system to his TV.

"There's some ham on the bottom shelf" Stewie declared, trying to help and attempting to say as little as possible, preferring to listen, "Condiments are in the door."

Ernie nodded and pulled the lunch meat and a half bottle of mustard, which he sat on the counter and opened; the ham in his anthropomorphic wings and the spreading the mustard in the shape of a smiley face; chuckling to himself and nonchalantly staring at Stewie with a knowing smile.

"Old habits" Ernie continued, "When I was kid Ma would always make these ham and mustard sandwiches without bread. Couldn't eat it on account of stomach issues. She would always put the mustard on with a frowning face; I never really understood why. Still don't. But I would always correct it, figured it was better that way. Just because it was being eaten doesn't mean it couldn't be happy."

Stewie laughed and shook his head, amused with the dry humor, a welcome change of pace from the usual surroundings. This in turn, caused Ernie to roll his eyes and laugh, satisfied that he had some kind of positive impact on someone. Returning to his seat, his meal half finished, the chicken took another breath, calmer than the last and quickly rapped on the table in an attempt to regain his thought process.

"My wife was the best person I knew" Ernie exclaimed, his thoughts considerably happier, "She would tell the funniest stories. Like when her brother, Randall, got stuck in the barn because he accidentally locked himself in with a horny bull. His ass hurt for months after that!"

A moment of uncomfortable silence accompanied with the realization of his present company followed; Ernie immediately retracting and for a moment going back to his previous state, his voice sad, but not entirely broken.

"She was the best thing that ever happened to me" Ernie concluded, "The only thing that ever happened to me."

Stewie knew immediately that this was a lie, for plenty had happened to Ernie that were equally important in the grand scheme of his life, chief among them being his reconciliation with Peter, the reformation of Chris after he went on a brief self-destructive streak, and his friendship with Brian. All of these things Stewie considered to be defining moments in the chicken's life, if only because they were the only significant ones that he knew of; yet he also knew that it didn't really matter what his thoughts were, Ernie would believe what he would believe.

"Is that why you were crying?" Stewie asked rhetorically, "Do you miss her?"

Ernie nodded and shrugged indifferently, for there hadn't been a day that passed that he didn't miss his wife; such was the relationship they had.

"I wasn't there" Ernie declared rather helplessly, slipping back further into his self-pity, "I couldn't face it. She died alone while I drank myself away at the bar. I had been an alcoholic for years, she helped me get clean. When I found out about the cancer-what it was doing to her-I lost it."

Ernie looked up, his eyes wet with tears; he did not cry, at least overtly; instead he dared them to fall.

"Do you have any idea what that is like?" Ernie asked, already anticipated the answer, "To fall so far and so hard that you can't get back up? To have the life sucked out of you in an instant, to feel completely helpless and the only thing you want to do is die so that you might see them again."

Ernie lifted his wing, revealing several scars; he pulled the feathers around his neck which was burdened with ligature marks; on his wrists were gashes and scars and bruises: various attempts with various results. All of these injuries were a direct result of his ridiculous battles with Peter; the most recent one, the ligature marks around his neck, came from an electrical cord; it hurt sometimes, especially during long winded sessions and as a result Ernie began to wheeze and huff, ultimately pulling out an inhaler and shaking it. Taking a puff and calming himself down, the chicken allowed himself to cry silently to himself and prepared for Stewie's inevitable ridicule.

Stewie said nothing, in fact the only thing he did was gently place his hand on Ernie's arm, letting him know of his existence. He thought that if he spoke, it would interrupt a much needed grieving session, and rather than causing more pain than necessary, decided to let the moment happen. It was strange, he thought, how someone who was so protecting of others could feel so broken and so useless. He assumed that a large part of these sentiments had to do with his unhealthy relationship with Peter, and with most of society.

"You know you never really know a person until you've seen them at their weakest" Stewie said, mostly talking to himself, "How they handle stress and grief, tells a lot about them."

"And what does this say about me?" Ernie asked as he sniffled and wiped his eyes, "That I'm a coward who's worse than the dirt under your feet?"

Stewie shook his head and patted Ernie's arm, still letting him know that he was listening and at the same time that he was wrong.

"You're a good person Ernie" Stewie continued, "I've glad to have known you."

Ernie said nothing, in partial disbelief that the words had been said, for no one had ever thought so highly of him that they were glad to be in his company. True, he had his family, but they didn't necessarily count, for the unconditional love of blood, although powerful, was nothing compared to the psychological platonic relationships with other people. It was comforting, to say the least, to find a friend who didn't come from his brawls with Peter or happenstance; who was, for better and for worse, his own personal confidant. It gave him purpose, and at the same time, reminded him of Chris, whom he had come to see like his own son. All of these emotions born in the memories of his wife, the guilt of his actions, and Stewie's responses to them, caused Ernie to cry for a different reason, one that was significantly better.

"Come on" Stewie said as he rose, trying to pull the chicken together, "Let's go."

Ernie stared at his watch, it was 10:30 on the dot, in twenty-three minutes it would officially be his fifteenth anniversary. Folding his hands in reverence, he began to pray. It wasn't a long prayer or necessarily a conversation with God; mostly he talked to his wife. He hoped that she was well and that she remembered him. He told her, in the most clichéd, yet true fashion, that the only thing he wanted was to see her; and then, he opened his eyes and smiled. His eyes were still sad and still wet with tears, but it was a different kind of sadness, the kind that was not self-destructive or harmful, the kind that carried memories and the only sadness in them was that they were in the past. With this in mind, Ernie stood, his heart a little lighter and followed Stewie out of the kitchen.

Walking into the living room, finding Chris and Mr. Peabody, who had arrived a few minutes before, Stewie brushed past them and made his way up the stairs heading for his room; with Ernie, mostly out of curiosity, following close behind.

Stewie's room was easily the messiest room in the house, this was on account of Brian having recently gotten him a large assortment of toys and things that he needed over the course of the year. Most of the toys were small and cheaply made, and thus had little value to Stewie other than they came from Brian, who tried his best with everything that he did in regards to his well-being. Wading through the scattered mess of stuffed animals, jigsaw puzzle pieces and the odd action figure, Stewie and Ernie approached the dusty corner of the room by the window, in which lay the time machine.

In terms of the time machine it was something that, by this point, the entire family knew about. Stewie rationalized, that it was simply easier, if secrets, such as his genius, were revealed. In his mind, the loss of Peter and Lois was the end of the need for such things; that and the poor taste of having sole access to a time machine that made it possible to go back to a time when the world was relatively normal.

"Stewie" Ernie said solemnly, guessing as to what it was that they were doing, "I don't go looking for things I can't have back; neither should you. Besides, who am I to deny her eternal happiness? It would be cruel beyond measure."

Stewie nodded in full agreement, for he long understood the power, not just of time travel but of the heart, and its ability to infinitely want things it no longer possessed.

"You're not going to save her" Stewie replied, "Just going to say goodbye."

Ernie shook his head, it was bad enough trying to maintain his composure in the living room when he was just making conversation; it would be torturous, given his state of mind, were he to go back in time and space. He knew in his heart that if he stepped through that he would never allow himself to return, and although he loved his wife, he also loved living.

"How do you expect me to do that when I couldn't even do it the first time?" Ernie continued, "Even if I could it what good would it do? What would I even say? There's not a thing on this Earth- no amount of words, no amount of declarations of love or devotion- that could ever change what happens next. Nicole dies and I live alone. That's the story."

Stewie laughed subtly, slightly pitying the chicken, for although he was partially correct he was wrong on so many things, some of them obvious and others not, that it was almost ridiculous that Ernie had belittled himself.

"That's not the story" Stewie corrected, "That's the prologue to the story."

Ernie sighed and smiled; he knew that in many ways Stewie was wise beyond his years and that he was only trying to help a virtually helpless situation. Kneeling down and picking up the first toy that crossed his eye, Rupert, Ernie began to make the bear dance; ultimately handing it off to Stewie, who took it without question.

"It's a nice sentiment" Ernie exclaimed, "Even if it is a misinterpreted one. The prologue always defines the novel."

Ruffling Stewie's hair and giving a quick embrace, Ernie stood up and walked out; heading back downstairs. As his footsteps descended down the staircase and through the living room; the house creaking with every movement, Stewie, who remained where he was, had already begun to plan. Walking over to his small desk next to the time machine, Stewie pulled out a notebook and turned to the first page on which was a To-Do List. Looking over the various objectives and noticing that none of them were particularly important, Stewie smiled to himself as he listed the first thing on his list that mattered; and rather than place it on #14, where it normally would have been, he placed it at the top, right above "kill Lois" which remained untouched.


End file.
